Over
the last day or so it has rained heavily. That, with the warmer
temperatures, has added to the rapid snow melt. The result has been
flooding, as the water runs to the lowest point; unable to soak into the still
frozen ground. After school today I visited several area creeks and
rivers in Northern Winnebago County. What I saw reminded me of a journal
entry I wrote back in April of 2000. I
wrote this entry almost 18 years ago after driving down to the southeast side
of Winnebago County to visit the Kishwaukee River's then flooded banks.
--------------------
Norman
Maclean once wrote, “I am haunted by waters,” or at least the movie version of
his book narrated those words. These
words come to me today as I watch for the second day in a row the rain that
plummets from the sky. Each drop pounds
itself earthwards and then creeps away in silent fashion to hide. This, however, is not the end of its
escapade. As the troops of droplets
gather in the valleys they ready themselves.
Those veiled in secrecy slowly emerge to join the ranks. Within the downpour and the thunder that
snarls angrily overhead, the armies of water build until, with the strength of
numbers, they begin their journey to the nearest creek or river.
The
waters of these swollen rivers haunt me in that they are terrible. They are terrible in the sense that one must
fear them out of respect. The waters
churn. They carve. The river is a living entity that is never
more evident than when it is in this state.
The water races with a furrowed brow and an intense, stern face. It screams, “Don’t mess” from its mouth; and
I don’t. Yet I can’t help but feel a
deep intrigue. I long for a glimpse of a
river running over its banks. Why the curiosity? The power!
The waters of an irritated creek, stream, or river rips and tears the
earth from its banks at each bend. Trees
and rocks are an afterthought, and once strewn forth, they become ripples within
the current. This same hand of power
that strikes unmercifully, however, replaces the land on the opposite side
after chewing it up and spewing it out, albeit further down river and on a
calmer day. Its colors are foul yet
beautiful as the waters gouge its bed and boil it into a bubbling froth. Perhaps it is the sound it makes that forces
one to pay homage. In the midst of the
storm, the wind and rain are one with the current as it roars onward.
Don’t
turn your back to this spectacle, however.
Once the rain stops and the sun burns forth, the land continues to drain
itself of the excess water it cannot absorb.
Now is the time when the surface will sparkle and entice. Now is the time when the water will gurgle
and trickle, lulling you into careless submission; for all the while the water
rises. Its depth is deceptive in the
magical, murky accent. One can feel complacent
in the sounds of a babbling river, not realizing that the small branch that
bobs up and down with the drifting water is the tip of an entire tree now
ensnarled below the surface. Beware the
intensity of the seemingly clam surface.
A river can be shallow and clear.
It can laugh as it wanders lazily, but it can also take a life with violence. Enjoy nature’s fury and rage but with
heightened senses. The same drop of rain
that tickles the nose on your face as it drips off your head can also join
forces with countless others to create a river of wrath. Ever alert while on my haunts, I peer from a
distance at the cleansing power of a moving river and am “haunted by waters.”
--------------------
Pictures And Videos From Today:
Dry Run Creek Running Through A Field
Dry Run Creek Racing Under The Bridge With Inches Of Clearance
CLICK ON THE VIDEOS:
The Sugar River Today
The Same Stretch Of The River As Above (Three Days Ago)
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